Split Screen Sadness
by LaNorita
Summary: This is a postprom fic with my own little twist ...
1. Intro

**A/N Though I absolutely love AU fics, I feel like season 3 could've gone so many ways so I decided to write my little version of it and I hope you'll like it. So this my own post-prom fic with a little twist ...**

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I've been shifting the small rectangular box around for the last 10 minutes, afraid to open it and discover its contents. It wasn't labelled, nor was there any sign of any indication whatsoever.

Just a simple carton box.

Yet this little box got me intrigued the moment I held it in my trembling hands. It might be because of its unfamiliarity. Or maybe it was due to the fact that it was dropped in front of my front door at 2.17 AM. It's deliverance was signalled not with a ring of the doorbell, but with the faint noise of a hesitant knock. By the time I had opened the door, all I could hear was the piercing sound of screeching tires and all I could see was that little small box sprawled on the worn 'Welcome' doormat.

I'm not ignorant though.

I know from who this box is. There's only one person that knew I would be alone in the living room at 2 AM on this Friday night. There was only one person that knew that I'd be singing quietly to Eliza Doolittle's _Wouldn't it be loverly?_ without missing a single beat.

I don't care if Audrey Hepburn didn't sing any of those songs in _My Fair Lady_, she was and always will be my first and all time celebrity crush. From her dazzling charm and the omnipresent mystery that surrounded her, to her unnaturaly natural beauty that shone through both inwardly as outwardly. There was a marathon on tonight, and I'd be damned if I would miss a minute of it for something as futile as a good night sleep. Besides, a 'good' night sleep hasn't embraced me for over 5 months. Why would tonight be any different?

And there's only one person who I ever told about my small obsession. Only one person with whom I could talk about it freely, way before I came out, without feeling slightly embarrassed. There was only one person that thought about me, the moment they heard about this marathon.

Oh, I know damn well who planted this box in front of my door. I know that this unlabelled box of mystery, is labelled in more ways than one. In manners that were way more significant than any tags would ever be. And I know that this mystery box, is anything but mysterious.

But for a moment I let myself get lost in it completely. It's been too long since I felt the mixture of excitement and wonder pour through my veins. It's been too long since I felt alive, even if it is for a few moments. It's been too long since I was pleasantly surprised, since I've been of thrown into the unknown without ending up being absolutely crushed.

So I let myself feel again.

I let myself feel the vividness and happiness that I've lacked for these passed months. I let myself be _me_ again. So that's why I shift the box in my hand one more time before finally setting it on my bedside table. That's why I won't open it, not right now anyway. Because whatever it is I'm feeling right now, it's a million times better than the hollowness I've been feeling ever since that night. The pain I've been experiencing ever since he left. The heartache I've been suffering from ever since she left. The carelessness I've been feeling ever since she's back.

By opening this box, everything will shift again. Maybe for the better, maybe for the worst. And no matter how anxious I'm feeling, no matter how much my fingers are itching to tear open that little package, I don't. Because it's this whirlwind of long lost sentiments that form the beginning of my healing process. It's these emotions that will give me my first good night sleep since that faithful night. And with the simple deliverance of this unopened box, she has entered into my life again.

And with this little gesture alone, I already forgive her.


	2. Chapter 1

There used to be a time were a Saturday afternoon meant a day filled with shopping spree's, beach lounging or simply hanging out with my friends. Now, a Saturday afternoon just gave me an excuse to stay in the house without having to worry about any school-assignments or having to communicate with anyone more than necessarily. I could just lock myself up in the solidity of my room and lie down in my bed continuing my perfect streak of being absolutely useless. Sometimes I'd slightly open the curtains to let some much needed rays of sun shine in, or even put on some music in the background.

But those days were rare. Those days I'd wake up and forget what had happened and I would unconsciously treat myself to some normalcy. At least until I passed his room or see his face along to endless pictures by the staircase wall. Once the memories all flooded back in, I'd go back into the darkness in a flash. I'd even punish myself for forgetting in first place, for being so damn selfish and not remember, not mourn the death of my brother for a certain amount of time. No matter how short or how long it lasted.

Today I didn't put the music on, nor did I open the curtains. But I did something so much greater than that. Something I never thought I'd ever do on my own again. Not right now at least. I treated myself to have a normal breakfast with my family. Those were possibly even more rare. The moments I'd actually spend some time with them. I'm not even talking about engaging in any form of conversation with them that consisted more that 4 words. It's weird because I always thought, if something as terrible as this ever happened to me, I'd be inseparable from them. Just like al those other families that were suddenly stricken with tragedy, we'd grow closer to each other and we'd seek for support in our shared loss. While my parents and my brother did seem to have followed that formula, it was soon clear that I didn't.

I changed.

I usually skipped breakfast and dinner, or any other meal for that matter. Opting instead to grab a bite on my way out, or to simply wait until it was brought up to my room by my father.

He never disappointed me.

I didn't expect any less.

Something about sitting at a table, were the chair opposed to me was vacant felt gut-wrenchingly wrong. The comfort and intimacy once that it represented lost on me, on us, completely. Knowing that, that chair will never be filled again by the one person that steadily occupied it from the moment we moved in.

Today, when I entered the kitchen and took a seat at the table, I could see the astonishment on my fathers face as he quickly grabbed an extra plate of his homemade pancakes and drenched them with extra syrup.

Just the way I loved them.

I could feel the support of Glen as he gently squeezed my hand while our prayers. I could hear the relief in my mothers voice as she said grace, just like every other day. And when I looked up and across the table, I could sense his soothing presence.

But now I'm back in my room. Back to my solitude. Back to my reality. I'm sitting on my bed, cross-legged and focused on trying to control my breathing. Trying to find my inner-peace, trying to find some of the old me in the mess that I've been for the last 5 months. Because I know that I need to if I want to open this box. The same box that's been on mind the moment that I held it in my hands. The box that will either save me from myself, or fuck me up even more. But I know this is it. I know it's time. It's time to open this box and try to turn this dreaded and worn page of my life.

I gently take the box, when I'm finally serene enough to still my trembling hands. I trace the form of it, from corner to corner, one last time before I ultimately find the strength to gently rip it open. I let out a long shaky breath, that I've unconsciously been holding in and take the time to steady myself again.

When I finally reach my hands into the box, my eyes close on cue. Letting my touch lead me through this process, not trusting my sight at this crucial moment. And as I let my fingers slide over the continence, and trust my now even hands to take it out of the package, I can feel myself breathe again.

And when I finally find the courage to open my eyes and take in the sight in front of me, I can see her again. I can sense her again. And for the first time since that night, I can feel the silent tears roll over my face that I've held in for so long.

And maybe, just maybe … I can finally be Spencer again.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N/ ****Ah, so glad I'm not the only one who thought Spencer's sadness was glossed over. I did like the fact that they didn't forget about Clay immediately after he died like some tv-shows would do, coughDegrassicough. I mean he was mentioned at least once in 7 of the 8 episodes if my memory serves me right and the shooting was mentioned in every episode (thank emo!Aiden for that). But the mourning and grief for the Carlins besides the first three ep's was too glossed over, although we're probably expected to imagine it mostly happening in the summer. But the thing that really irks me is the reaction to Ashley's departure. You have Spencer shown mad and sad for two seconds and then be all okay about it again. Don't get me wrong, I'm usually the first to defend Ashley's actions (no matter how retarded) but she still ditched her girlfriend when she needed her most. Not cool, Davies. Not cool. In my eyes Ashley leaving Spence was way worse than the whole Ashden-crap.**

**Anyway I end my rant here … and bring you guys a new update. I have to say though, that these chaps were pre-written hence the quick updating. So you'll have to wait a lil' longer for the next one. Nevertheless enjoy!

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Thirty-four.

Maybe a little more, maybe a little less. Maybe way more, maybe way less. I don't really know, since my calculating insights aren't very trustworthy right now. All I know is that they're scattered across my bed. Some of them brownish, other grayish and then you have the ones that are marked by its white simplicity. Every single one them is draped with a small token on the top right corner. You have the ones that are distinguished by their classical and concrete imagery while others are marked by a colorful abstractness.

So different, yet so alike.

It's sad to realize that this will probably be the closest I'll ever get to any of the places from were these items reside. Every single one of them, being dissimilar from the other. Every single one of them coming from a different world, formed in a different moment, shaped by a different feeling. Every single one of them traveled unrelated routes to get here, to get to their final resting place. But every single one of them is marked by the scripture of the same person, engulfed with the same scent and given with the same purpose.

I reach out to take one them. The one that I found on top of the others and revealed its ancientness. I trace each letter that's the draped on the front of it, symbolizing my existence in one would think a very impersonal way. But her writing tells me otherwise, and soon my belief follows. And when I open it and take out the piece of paper, its that same writing that draws me in and makes me forget …

_June 10__th__, Paris_

_Dear Spencer,_

_You have no idea how much time it took__ me to figure out if I should start the letter with 'Dear Spencer' or 'Dear Spence'. Whereas this would've been absolutely futile about a month ago, I feel like it isn't now. Like I've lost any privilege of calling you anything personal, anything a person that's close to you would say without a seconds thought. Because though, in my mind and my heart you'll always be there, I do not know whether you still feel the same about me._

_As you know, I'm usually not one for letters. Aside from the small notes we exchanged in class or the little love-declarations I'd squiggle in the books you borrowed me, I never really wrote you a decent old-fashioned letter. And it pains me that it had to come to this, before I could finally do so. But I guess I'm using the purest form and meaning of a letter, aren't I? A few crinkled papers where I scribble down my deepest feelings, that are meant to be read by the most meaningful person in my life who just so happens to reside across the ocean. In any other situation this would have been described as romanticism at its sweetest. Yet all I feel is realism at its bitterest._

_When you're reading this, you'll already have realized how much of a coward I truly __am. Not being strong enough to face life and its consequences. Incapable of coping with reality and the pain that comes with it. Unable to face your tears, without shedding mine._

_So I do what I do best and run. Far away from the pain and, unfortunately, far away from you._

_I hate writing you this letter, because it reminds of the horrible person that I am. __And here I am again writing about my pain, my mistakes, my inability to deal when you're the one who's really hurting. When you're the one who lost a sibling, and you're the one who's girlfriend bailed on in the most difficult period of her life._

_But you have to u__nderstand that I didn't leave you, to hurt you any more that you already are. That I didn't leave you because I didn't love you anymore. And understand that none of it is your fault. My dysfunctionality has hit again and your its victim this time around. And, God, I hate it. I hate myself for it. Because you of all people do not deserve this pain. You deserve to be loved, and adored and cherished and all those things I haven't been doing lately with no valuable reason. Cause you're amazing Spencer, and you just have no idea how perfect you are. I guess you're expecting me to now say that I don't deserve you, and that it would be best for me to let you go. To let you find someone, or be found by someone who truly is worthy of you. Although I think that would be nearly impossible, cause if I would be the juror on who did or did not deserve you; I'd send them all out. Myself being the first probably._

_But that's the thing Spencer, I can't write these words, let alone utter them. And you can call me the most self-centered person on this planet (and you'd probably be right too …), but I would never let you go. Leave you physically without a goodbye, to an other continent? Sure. But leave your heart and soul? Never. Because ever since I first met you in the halls of King High, ever since I first got the chance to touch your skin, ever since I first kissed your lips … I knew I could never go back to the ordinary and average. Because every time I kiss you, all I taste is extraordinary and all I feel is uniqueness. So tell me; how can I possibly go back to anything that isn't you?_

_I will understand if you resent me and never want to see or hear from me again, no matter how much my heart would break. But you should also realize that I will never give you up, I would never give us up. And though I know, it may sound as if I'm contradicting myself since I'm the one who left you and I'm the one who put our relationship in the ropes, I need this. I need this time away from you, from L.A and from reality to find myself. To know myself. As much as it hurts to be away from you, it hurts even more to stay with you and treat you like you shouldn't be treated. I figure that not being with you right now, won't give me a chance to screw up again. I guess with me being down here and with you being all the way there, I won't hurt you with my thoughtless actions and careless musings. _

_So I've come to the end of this letter, and I just want to say that I do not expect an answer. I don't__ know whether this will be the one and only letter I'll send, but if it is than I want you to know that I'll always love you. No matter where we are, when the time or who we're with, you'll always be the one for me Spence._

_Yours truly,_

_A. D._

I let myself fall onto my mattress, letter drawn unconsciously to my heart and eyelids unable to stay open. Millions of thoughts float through mind, each contradicting the other. Each trying their hardest to seep into my consciousness, promising me that they hold the truth. But all I hear is chaos and I'm unable to lessen the turmoil. It's the heaviest duty that my mind has gotten to process in months. And though I want to keep the peace up there, I'm enjoying the commotion. I'm relishing the bedlam that this piece of paper has single-handedly caused.

And when I think about the thirty-three (maybe more, maybe less) other letters that will probably cause the same mayhem inside my head, I can only smile. And it's probably extremely misplaced and completely uncalled for, but I can't help that my first genuine smile in months is caused by a whirlwind of secret declarations. Declarations that should be painful and should make me cry, but they don't. And I'm wondering if she knows. If she knew when she was writing it, that I'd feel what I'm feeling now.

Because she truly is the only one that got me. The only that gets me.

She is my soulmate.

And she will be my savior.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: A little ****update for you guys. I hope enjoy it and you have a good read. Thank you for the feedback, I always appreciate it.**

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_Paris, June 12__th_

_Dear Spencer,_

_I didn't send it. I wanted too but __I didn't. I couldn't. I actually walked until to the post service in the hotel but couldn't bare to go inside. The clerks must've thought I was a lil' crazy since I stood there for longer then 40 minutes just looking through the glass door. Constantly taking one step forward, before taking two steps back. I just didn't feel like I was ready. And I swear when I was writing you that letter I was positive I was going to march down to the post office and post it with sheer determination and without a single hesitation on my part. Because I want you to know. I need you to know. I'm tired of not telling you how I really feel. But at the same time I'm not feeling strong enough to tell you everything quite yet. Because I'm used to always hide my feelings behind laughs and sarcasm and everything that isn't 100 percent pure. Like when I first told you I was jealous and immediately corrected myself by telling you that it was of pure friendly nature. Or the first time I told you that I loved your brownies, instead of simply you. And when I finally was strong enough to utter it, I had to mouth it to you cause I was afraid that the sound of those words, the heaviness of those sentiments would make me bolt straight out of your life. Or when I finally found the strength to hold your hand in public, but displayed it as me just wanting to read your lifelines._

_Everything I always did or felt or said, I hid beneath another action, another word, another feeling. I want that to change. I want to be able to tell you how I feel at all times, without being afraid at what the consequences might be. That letter was supposed to be the start of my turnaround. But I how can I turn around when I don't even feel that I am somewhere. When all I feel is lost._

_I was thinking earlier today when you were telling me how you brought your life down to 'before me' and 'with me' and how you were so much better off with me. Well, I feel the same way about you, Spencer. There's the Ashley before you and there's the Ashley with you. And that Ashley with you is nowhere near to perfect but god, she's some much better than the Ashley before you. The one you haven't really met save for a few times. The one you encountered briefly the last few months, although it definitely was a lighter version. That's one of the reason why I'm here right now. Because I don't want you to meet that Ashley. I don't want you to ever meet her. And I can't help but hope that when I'll be back, that I'll be still be able to bring down my life to before you and with you. Instead of entering another stage. Instead of entering the stage of 'after' Spencer. I'm desperately hoping that it'll always be 'with' and never 'after'. Just like it was meant to be._

"Spencer?"

I quickly bring the letter to my lap, hiding it from the person who just walked in and caught me huddled over the kitchen-table at well past 3 in the morning. Hiding in the darkness of the kitchen that I abounded so much, only lit with the soft glow of the moon.

"What are you doing here?"

Just reading a letter from the girl who stole my heart, shed it and somehow is delicately putting it back together. Reading _here_ because my room was too intimate, too _us_, too subjective. As if I couldn't think straight in a room where I shared so many firsts with that girl. As if I wouldn't be able to pass a fair judgment, when my surroundings were all biased. Reading it _now_, because I needed all this time to process her first letter. Because of the fact that I couldn't process it, I also couldn't bring myself to sleep and I couldn't _not_ read at least one more letter.

"I couldn't sleep, so I …I just came here."

It's illogical and doesn't give a decent explanation but it's all I can give now and I know she understands. She gives me a half-smile, gently walks towards the fridge afraid to break the silence, takes a bottle of water and shuffles her way out before she stops midway with her back faced to me.

"It's hard, sweetie. For all of us. I'll be waiting when you're ready."

With that she leaves me, while she rejoins her soulmate. Her other half, her love of her life, her source of comfort. And leaves me, trying to reconnect with mine.

I take the letter from my lap again and try to straighten it with my palms, from the new-formed creases. Only willing it to have the creases of her. Letting it be personalized with her folding and not mine. Not yet.

_So, like you've probably noticed by now I'm in Paris. Well, that's what my plane ticket and the view outside my window say__s anyway. I haven't gotten out of my room yet, save for my unsuccessful attempt to post your letter. Kyla comes in every single morning through our common door, still not bothering to knock, to try and get me out of my bed. But she never succeeds. I can't bring myself to go outside. It's ironic that I'm residing it the City of Love, but I've never been more alone. I feel like I don't have the right to go outside and take in the beauty of this city and relish its treasures without my other half. I'd be somehow cheating on you if I would. One day, I'll visit it and relish it and fall in love with it and call it my secret place. Our secret place, because you'll be there with me. We'll row on our little boat on the Seine in the evening, and we'll row until we're far away from the world. Far away from everyone and everything. Only surrounded by lotus buds and beautiful white swans, and you'll tell me that it's like a dream. And when we'll be trudging down empty streets in the middle of the night, only lightened by the lampposts I'll ask you if you would dance with me. Alone together, without a care of the world, swaying to the music of our beating hearts._

_You made me watch that movie too many times, Spencer. And no matter how many times I moan and complain about it being ridiculously unrealistic and cliché and only wanting to watch it because I think that Rachel McAdams is hot, I secretly love it. I love it, because I want to share it with you. Because one day, I want us to be unrealistic and cliché. I want us to be able to lay down on a deserted crossroad watching how the lights change. _

_But those days are still long away. And I'll be content to know that they're still far away but still present in our future. I'll be happy if you'll be willing to wait for me to change. To be the person you deserve to be with. And even if you're done with waiting, done with my irresponsibility's and decide to move on, I won't. I'll always fight for you. No matter how long it takes._

_Cause if you're a bird, I'm a bird._

_Yours truly,_

_A.D._

I sigh softly into the night, as I get up from this estranged table and take the letter in my hands. Softly folding it, making new creases of my own. Not caring that they reform a new pattern of creases. That my creases meet hers somewhere in the middle. And as I trudge up the stairs to my too intimate, too biased room and shuffle in my bed of sleepless night, I finally fall asleep. And with the letter still clutched in my hand I create all sorts of new unknown creases. I create all sorts of new routines. All sort of new beginnings.

And in the morning when I'll wake up, I'll trace each and one of those creases just like she traced my lifelines such a long time ago.


	5. Chapter 4

I never really had to try hard to make new friends. I always somehow fitted. No matter how different I was, I always remained the sweet girl next door. The cute girl that'll engage in school activities without letting out a sigh. Always selfless, never selfish. Eternal smile plastered on the face no matter what. Never hated, always loved. My lunchtable never was overflowed with people, but it always occupied by a handful a people who I called my closest friends. I was never an outcast, nor the schools most popular girl but I floated somewhere in between. Granted I was always closer to the latter group, but I never fully engaged myself to a certain group. I never dared to label myself, because someone once told me that labels were overrated.

That same someone used to be one of those people who steadily occupied my lunchtable. Immediately turning it into _our_ lunchtable. Just the two of us, because no matter how many people occupied it we'd be always feel alone. Because it was only her thigh I'd feel brushing against mine. It would be only her eyes I'd search when I was talking. It'd only be her fingers that would thread through mine underneath the intimacy of our table.

Now this table, has never felt any more bigger than it is. Never felt any more deserted and the once vivacious colors never seemed paler than they are today. Gone is the innocent laughter, the secretive handholding, the eyes losing themselves in other eyes. All is left is the emptiness of reality, the bittersweet memories of what once was, the silent whispers of those who walk by and faces filled with pity for the broken girl.

Because that's what I am now. The broken girl. The sister of the schools brightest student who was murdered in coldblooded fashion. The foolish girl that thought she could change her dysfunctional girlfriend into a normal committed one. The girl who had it all, but lost everything on one faithful night of May.

The broken girl.

But they weren't whispering how her dysfunctional ex-girlfriend dropped a box filled with 34 letters, maybe more maybe less, in front of her door at 2.17 AM. How that simple action was helping her more that the professional therapy she got and is still getting. How only two letters already have given her more comfort that any relative or friend have given and could give. How the thought of her not forgetting about her while she was gone, made her feel alive again. Made her feel not so guilty to grant herself that aliveness again and made her forget the seemingly inconsolable hurt .

They weren't whispering how the only thing I could think about ever since I woke up this morning was to read the next one. To get lost in her whirlwind of words. To feel myself getting closer and closer to the place I once was in. To nearing the person I once represented and to nearing the person I once loved. Still love. No matter what.

_Paris, June 13__th_

_Dear Spencer,_

_I failed again. I didn't even make it to the post-office this time. I had barely placed the stamp, when my phone rang. And when I checked the screen I couldn't help but let the letter slip through my fingers. I couldn't help but close my eyes since the name that was displayed made me ache so much. Harshly reminding me what I had done and what I was about to do. And how something as these ridiculous crumpled sheets of papers would never make it right again. It reminded me of how stupid I was for thinking that it would somewhat change things and that you'd understand. It reminded me that no matter how many tears I'd shed, they'd never erase yours. No matter how painful the dull ache in my chest was, it would never be as painful as yours. And no matter how many letters I write, they'd never make up for all that I done wrong._

_For a second I didn't care and grabbed my phone, clutched it to my ear (eyes still closed and tears still spilling) and hovered my thumb above that little green button. Screaming to me to push it already and give in. But the shrill ringing kept mocking me, telling me how foolish I was. How much of a coward I was for not being able to send a letter, let alone pick up the phone and explain myself to the person who's heart I shattered. To finally confront my actions. To finally confront you. So just like the letter where I poured my heart out, the phone slowly slid out of my hand dropping with a loud thud on the carpeted floor. _

_I couldn't pick up because I wasn't planning on explaining myself. I wasn't planning on saying I was sorry and grovel like I promised myself. All I wanted was to hear your voice again. Whether is was clear or muffled, happy or sad … I didn't care as long as it was yours. As long I could feel it seep through my soul and let it enchant my heart again, because it's been too long. It's been too long since I heard your raspy voice over the phone whispering secrets you've never shared before. It's been too long since I could hear your laugh, after a bad joke of mine instantly making it a good one and reminding myself too keep humoring you. It's been too long since I heard you smile right after I told you something heartfelt and sincere. Because you know that you're the only who gets to experience that side of me. The Ashley 'with' Spencer._

_I only wanted to pick up for selfish reasons. To soothe my aches and to fill my blanks. I was willing to block out everything I did so you could make me feel better again. Just like so many other times, I was choosing myself over you. And I can't be doing that, because I want to change, right? And the only reason I want to change is because of you. Because I want us to be together again. Without the drama. Just you and me wrapped in each others arms and whispering sweet nothings in innocent ears. Holding each others hands while mindlessly walking down the streets, without a care in the world. Having you rub my cold feet with your warm ones, when we creep into bed and instantly warming mine not complaining that I'm lowering the temperature of yours. Always giving, never taking. I want that. Because my feet are so cold at night, Spencer. No matter how much I try wriggling them in the sheets, they never warm up to that perfect temperature. And I tried wearing socks but I always end up squirming myself out of them in the middle of the night, because they warm my feet too much. Whatever I do, it's either not enough or too much. But you, you were always perfect. You always knew just what to do. I need that again. God, I need it so much._

_I need you so much._

_I don't know if I'll ever be brave enough to send you these letters or hand them to you personally, assuming you'll accept them. I don't know if you'__ll ever know about them, let alone read them. Maybe I'll send them to you this summer, or maybe not. Maybe I'll give them to you on a night many years from now, when I finally feel strong enough to share this part of my life with you. Maybe I'll hide them in a place where I assume you won't find them and you'll stumble on them one day pure accidentally. Contemplating whether you would invade my privacy or not, and end up putting them neatly back waiting until I was ready to show them myself. Because you're just that kind of girl. Or maybe I'll keep them to me and read them over every single night, crying myself to sleep because I was never courageous enough to give them to you. Because I was never brave enough to win you back. But maybe I will be valiant enough to share them with you and maybe I will be courageous enough to win you back. And maybe you and I can be the Spencer and Ashley everyone envied once. Because who wouldn't want to have the connection we had and hopefully still have? Who wouldn't want to find their other half at the age of sixteen? Each one of them laughing at our naivety concerning love, but secretly desiring every part of it. We somehow lost that the last few months, but that doesn't mean it's not still out there. We just have to keep looking. No matter how long it takes, and no matter how hard it gets. Because I swear Spencer, it'll be worth it. Every single painful second of it will be worth it, because it'll end up with us together._

_And that is the only reason I need to keep looking and changing and fighting and waiting._

_I hope it's yours too._

_Yours truly,_

_A.D._

As I close my chemistry book conveniently hiding my true occupation and this piece of her that somehow already is a piece of mine, I feel something familiar. I feel linked hands beneath the table and thighs brushing thighs. I hear laughter and whispered _I love you's_. I sense her pouring through my veins, slowly itching her way to my heart. That heart that forgot how to thump freely, only beating out of necessity and not out of choice. Only absorbing the pain, never bothering to let in some of the good things.

I feel her.

I feel the girl I fell in love with. And as I lift up my head and everyone somehow fades to a neutral color, completely getting lost in the surroundings and immediately escaping my focus, I find her eyes. Her dark brown ones, more vibrant then ever. Lighting up the darkest corner of the quad with ease. Asking me to let it be my only reason too. Begging me to believe her. And when she drops her head, the obscurity suddenly envelops her reminding me how dark that corner really is and everyone instantly appears to the forefront again. Every second that passes, is a second that thickens the useless masses. Hiding the one and only person I'm looking for. But every second is worth it, because she promised me that. Because she promised _us_ again.

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	6. Chapter 5

_Somewhere, June 16__th_

Dear Spencer,

It's been a few days since I've last written you and I couldn't hold out any longer. You've called me a couple of more times but I hope you understand that I'm just not capable of picking up and talking to you right now. As much as I'm dying to hear the sound of your voice, I'm just not there yet. I truly hope that you're doing somewhat alright under the circumstances and that you're slowly returning back to your old life. Although I know that things will never be the same again, there will be a day when you'll wake up and continue to live. You'll cry, you'll grieve, you'll hurt but in the end you'll start living again. You'll be the teenager with bright dreams and vibrant hopes, _the one__you were not so long ago. Because the ones you've lost … The ones that left you too soon, would want you to live. They would want you to smile and succeed and fall in love and do all the things you're supposed to do. Because __it is__ only then __that__ they'll have a chance to live too. Live through your happiness, through your hopes, through your future. _

It takes time, it does. But eventually it comes. You'll never be able to forget, although you will pretend once and awhile for your sake and for the ones surrounding you. But in the end, _it's __all still stored in your heart__. But that's okay. Because life isn't just about smiles and bliss and continuous joy. It's also about tears and sorrow and pain that just doesn't seem to soften. And those experienced emotions, is what makes you 'you'. It shapes your beliefs and uncertainties, the smiles you'll make and the tears you'll shed. All the things that happened in your past, good and bad, are the things that'll form your future. And it's up to you to develop the negative into a positive picture. I have absolutely no doubt that you can do that. Because you're the strongest and bravest person I've ever met, Spencer. You never run away from your problems, you face them. I've watched you overcome every single difficulty on your own. Some with a little more effort than the others, but in the end you always prevailed. And you always have some fight, some strength left for the ones you care about. I can do nothing but admire that. I look so much up to you, Spencer. Because one day I hope I can be half as strong and brave as you. _

You might be wondering why I put up Somewhere as my location instead of the usual Paris. Well, one explanation would be that I'm no longer in Paris. After spending more than a week locked up in my hotelroom I came to the conclusion that I might as well leave. It just didn't feel right to stay there anymore. I am planning to go back though. Well, I hope so anyway. Because there would only be one reason for me to return and you already know which one it is. I told Kyla I was leaving, and she was worried as hell to let me go but understood anyway. She's been good to me, Spencer. She's come to know who I am these last couple of months and I think that she finally gets me. And I finally get her. It's just … I'm glad I have her, you know. I don't know if we're ever going to be one of those inseparable sisters that share and do everything together, or if I even want too. But just the thought that I know she'll be there for me no matter what, soothes my mind a little. She's filling this void in me, even if it's just a little bit. You already know _the __person that fills it almost completely with ease. _

I didn't bother to tell mom. She has actually acted somewhat motherly to me the first few days, which shocked me more than ever. I'm pretty sure she's gonna be pissed when she discovers that I just up and left. Although she didn't bother to even visit me _in__ my room these last few days. I guess things are more interesting in her suite with Jean whatever-his-last-name is._

Anyway, I wrote Somewhere because I don't really know where I am. I do know where I'm going, though. For now at least. I'm thinking about making some temporary trips here and there. My first stop is going to be Brussels. You're probably wondering why the hell I'm going to this random city and I guess I wouldn't really know how to answer that. The only thing I know about that city is that their sprouts want to make me puke, but that their chocolate is orgasmic. Oh and_, according to dad__ they have the best beer in the world. I don't really know why I'm going there in the first place. Maybe I just want to go because it was the first name that I read when I entered the station. Maybe I want to see for myself what's so great about this city, __so great__that it made dad break his promise to attend my 10th birthday so he could launch his first worldtour in it. Or maybe I was just, you know, __craving__ some fresh waffles. _

I'm traveling by train by the way. I don't know if I ever told you, but I've never done that before. Like you already know, I always travel by car and if the distance is too long than I'm hopping on the first plane there is. I don't know the meaning of hiking or cycling or in this case taking a train. I have never seemed being able to grasp the happiness and comfort in the little things. I'm 18 and before today I've never ridden a train. And I can't help but look outside and see all these different sceneries pass by, and wonder why I could _never fathom__ traveling in __one__. Everything about it is so peaceful. It's not about first-class seats and exquisite champagne and personal DVD-screens. It's about cramped spaces with obnoxiously loud children and lukewarm coke. It's about the beautiful scenery that passes by your eyes, while __letting__the rhythmic sound of the wheels hitting the rail joints__unconsciously lullabying you into a comfortable sleep. All my life I've been seeking for the big and the exclusive. Or at least I think__t__hat's what I've been after__. But the big and the exclusive are only present in the little things._

_  
_

My dad thought that buying me the most expensive gifts would largely make up for his lack of presence. He thought that giving me something that was valued so much in the material world would trump his presence, no matter how short, in the real world. He loved me. He knew that I was aware of it and he'd give these ridiculously pricey presents, thinking it would remind me of his love in case I forgot. And he thought that it was enough. But it wasn't. I didn't care that everyone envied what I had materially, because I envied them even more for what they had emotionally. And I hated him for it. I hated that he loved me and cared about me, but that it wasn't enough for him to take some time and actually show it to me. I hate it even more that I'm becoming that person. The person who claims that loves and cares and has a big heart but doesn't follow it up with genuine actions. I hate that I think I can make up for stupid mistakes, no matter how small they are in my eyes, with gifts and broken promises. I hate that I take the few good things I have for granted. And I hate that I thought that you would fall for it and always be there for me no matter what I did. What I hate the most though is that after everything I've done, I'm the one who's running away and you're the one who's searching for me.

Sometimes I don't understand you, Spencer. After everything I did and didn't do, you still don't give up on me. There are so many people in my life that left me for lesser. But you never fail me. And sometimes I wish you would disappoint me. Just so it could give me a somewhat valuable explanation, an overused excuse for my behavior towards you. Because right now I don't have one. Other than the fact that, yes, I might be dysfunctional and yes I might be afraid to commit because of my history. But all of that fades when it comes to the prospect of having you in my life. You've given all of _yourself__to me and practically sacrificed your family __to__ be with me__ and I didn't __treasure__it enough. I took you for granted as if people like you come along every single day. _

Right now I am Somewhere. And I'm not just talking about me being in this train that is traveling through these unknown regions of a country I've only heard about through others. I am Somewhere, because I can't place myself in any place in my life right now. I do not know where I am, because frankly anywhere I am without you is not worth being at. And I'm aware of that, because before you came along I was Nowhere. I didn't have to privilege to be Somewhere or the prospect of going to a place where I want to be for the rest of my life. But even though I'm not where I want to be now, I can at least say I have a destination in front of my eyes. I have an image of where I want to be and whereto I want to travel. My whole journey no matter how hard and how long it will take will be worth it, just because of that destination. Because the place I am traveling to is filled with handholding walks and sunset kisses. It's filled with meaningless fights, but meaningful make-ups. It's filled with promises that are being made, but also kept. It's filled with you and me settling because we've finally figured it out.

My destination is you, Spence. 

Wait for me to find it.

Yours truly, 

A.D.

It's three in the morning on a schoolnight and I haven't even bothered telling anyone at home where I am . I don't really know what brought me to this exact place, at this exact time. I don't know what dragged me here after reading that letter today. I don't even know if I can go through with reading the rest of them, because I'm afraid of the emotions and feelings they ignite. I do know that I've experienced many memorable moments here and that I couldn't bring myself to come back for a very long time. Memories can be so precious in one's life, but that doesn't make reminiscing any less hurtful. When you think about all the good that's ever happened in your life, it's supposed to make you feel better. It's supposed to cheer you up, and instantly make you forget about the bad day you were having. But what happens when a bad day becomes a bad week, a bad month, a bad year? What happens when those memories only bring you down more, because they're so damn bittersweet? They just remind you of the good times. Of the times you'd smile so effortlessly and how strenuous it is to muster up a smile now. They only take you back to what once was and make you realize painfully what is now. Her letters are a bundled book of those bittersweet memories. I have the choice to either ignore those memories and continue to live my life , forget about the past and try to shape a new layer of recollections. Or I can choose to remind myself of them and what they meant and still mean. I can make myself face that part of my life and compare it to this one. Because I will never be able to move on to the next stage of my being, if I do not. Just like she said; it's my past, that will shape my future.

But doesn't she realize that the most significant part of my past is formed by her? So how can I shape my future, our future as she claims, when she isn't even with me? Doesn't she know that it hurts so much to talk about her as a part of my past and not my present? She says that she hates that she has become the person who claims that loves and cares but never backs it up, but I hate that I still can not let her go. I hate that I miss Clay so much and can't seem to stop grieving when others have already moved on. I hate that I feel that I lost more of her than him that night, because his departure was not by choice. I hate that just thinking about her makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up as if she was present. I hate how the sand beneath my palms and the waves before my eyes, make it feel as if she's right here. Above all, I hate that I don't mind still loving her.

And when I feel a jacket with an all-too-familiar scent placed on my chilled shoulders, I don't even have the time to turn around before I register that voice.

"You waited for me."

* * *


	7. Chapter 6

Mr. Johnson, my teacher of English back in Ohio, was always one for controversies. He didn't necessarily partake in any of it or even agreed with what he preached. He just liked to drop little bombs once and awhile, fuelling up a heavy debate while he watched enthralled from the sidelines. He particularly liked to do that when things were progressing very slowly in class and everyone was either asleep or half way there. He'd slowly put his chalk down, settle himself on top of his desk and look around the class while clearly musing something in his head. The next words he'd utter would either be followed by gasps or disbelieving laughs. The thing is, we all knew he did it because he wanted to lure us into reacting and participating in a debate. As much as he appreciated the diversity of English literature, he wasn't a big fan of following the rules when it came to teaching us the subject he was supposed too. He wasn't big of many rules actually. So we all figured after a while why he'd make such outrageous statements and that he more than probably didn't support them himself. From then on there was an unwritten rule, that no matter what he'd say we wouldn't react to it. Just to piss him off. But then he'd piss us even more of by actually giving us a load of grammatical assignments and dictation after dictation. Something that wouldn't be out of the ordinary with any other English teacher. But Mr. Johnson wasn't ordinary. He was the teacher we'd love to hate. The one of who's lessons we'd endlessly dread out loud, but secretly wouldn't miss for the world.

When Mr. Johnson was tired of our lackluster behavior at the very end of a blistering hot day, he dropped his chalk again and placed himself on top of his desk again. We knew what was coming and we couldn't dread it any more. Because whatever he'd say there's no way anyone would have any power within them to argue their heart out at that particular moment. But when he adjusted his glasses, looked my way and said that love did not exist, every ounce of tiredness left my body. Every trace of sleep vacated my features as I immediately sat up. The unwritten rule was non-existent for me at that point. I did not care that this was his little trap to lure me into arguing with him. Because I did. I bickered, I debated, I quarreled with my entire heart. I poured my whole heart out into the arguments I threw at him. I didn't even gave a chance to my fellow students to give their point of view. It was pretty much a one hour monologue on my behalf which ended with me being breathless and flustered and Mr. Johnson regarding me with a victorious smirk. He gave me my highest grade ever that semester. Back then I was naïve enough to think it was because I convinced him of the existence of love. Now I realize he merely gave me that grade because I fell for his scheme and showed passion in my speech. If Mr. Johnson did believe in love, than it wasn't because of my testament. Because it wasn't a testament. Back then I didn't knew what true love was. True love was fictional TV-characters you were rooting for to get together and stay together season after season. It was the tears that fell from your eyes when they'd break up. It was the contented sighs you'd let out when they'd finally get back together in that epic final.

Love was a TV-show.

Love was fictional.

Love was utopian.

I never got to convince Mr. Johnson about the existence of love, because I didn't knew what love was. And the little smirk he displayed way back then, told me he knew all along. If I were to be in that same classroom again with Mr. Johnson making that same statement again at this point, I don't know whether I would've uttered a word. I don't know if I would even disagree with his outrageous declaration because love took such a different turn in my life in one year. In one year I got to experience my version of love and some of its cruel consequences. But right know, I am no longer that fourteen year-old girl who was so convinced of the existence of love. And even if I was, that didn't mean that I automatically connected it with something good, something that I needed and had to have. I'm so sure anymore that love still exists or certainly not the pure image I had of it once. Love made me happier than I ever was, but it also made me sadder than I could remember. Love existed, I think. But did it last? And did it bring you joy or grief? Was it really worth all the sacrifices we made for them?

I've been sitting here motionlessly, watching the same waves crashing that I watched earlier on. Only it isn't the same. Because the person that made my whole perception of love change for both the better and the worse, is sitting right beside me. No words have been uttered since she draped my shoulders with that jacket of hers. No whispers, no yells, no comfort or discontent were exhibited. She just soundlessly sat next to me and I soundlessly let her. Just like that, we've been sitting here for an amount of time that I cannot perceive. We've had so many days like these before. Where we'd come here together or separately only the find the other already to be present, and simply sit in the cold sand and take the scenes in front of us. Listening to only the sounds of the eponymous ocean. Those moments were the times where our love and connection rang the loudest. Every single time we'd find ourselves here, our silent words would let us in on each others secrets and enhance the bond between us. This situation we are finding ourselves in now is so familiar but at the same time so foreign. Conditions have changed and I don't know if the same rules as before apply anymore. And it's that same state of mind that makes me ponder how to act and not act.

It's that state of mind that makes me break the first of our unvoiced rules. I slowly shift my eyes from that safe and familiar sight in front of me to the, once also safe and familiar, sight next to me. I'm feeling bold and audacious as I take in her form unabashedly. Her face that seems to be so concentrated and collected. Too concentrated and collected. She feels my eyes on her features and unlike me, she does no dare to break our rules of safety just yet. She's yet to be brave enough to take that next uncalculated step into the unknown like I just did. She's not even valiant enough to close her eyes and run from it all, because a gesture like that would mean a form of alteration. Something that she seems not to be ready for yet. And it makes me wonder if she truly did mean the things she has written to me. Because the only thing she's been trying to let me know was that she was willing to change, she was willing to be a different person. A person that would not repeat the hurtful actions she once did so carelessly. She made me promise to wait for her until she did indeed change. And whether it was consciously or unconsciously, I promised her I would and I did. I don't know if I came here tonight in the hopes to find her here or to be found. I don't know if I came her tonight to start my long process of waiting for my grief to be undone, for my happiness to start, for her to have changed. Maybe I just came here because I wanted to do what she had done and escape. Maybe she was still in the process of escaping when she came here and saw my silhouette in the faint glow of the full moon. Or maybe she was trying to prove to me that Mr. Johnson was wrong and that the fourteen year-old me was right all along.

Her presence next to mine is both refreshing as it is intoxicating and I start to feel the same emotions I felt when I read that first letter of hers. I don't know what to think anymore or what to expect. Everything that is going through my mind makes absolutely no sense, this whole scene that we both partake in makes no sense and I don't know whether I should relish it or dread it. The only thing I'm sure of is that the beauty of her features will never fade and no matter how hard I try they will never be lost on me. And for a moment I envy that feeling, I envy the power of those objective assets because I wish that everything could be that easy and constant sometimes. And just then I notice a barely-there-movement in her soft lips and the unexpected makes its entrance. The counterpart of my shifting gaze is about the take their place on the center stage. And for the second time tonight, a rule of ours will be broken.

"There are so many things I want to say, but I don't know how." She whispers dejected into the night, her eyes never leaving the view in front of her. Not wanting to break all the rules at the same time. "I had more than five months to think this over, to finalize what I was going to say and right now I got nothing." She bitterly sighs. My eyes don't leave her face and my voice doesn't even dare to make the slightest of sounds. Outwardly my body seems to be completely frozen, yet inwardly I find myself to be in the middle of a heated frenzy. I understand how she feels, because how many times did I not replay this scene in my head again and again. How many times did I not tell her off in my mind, did I not yell and scream and cried to show her just how she made me feel when she abandoned me so carelessly. How many times did I not kiss her passionately as she said she was sorry over and over again and I forgave her every single time. But not one of those scenarios has become reality. Because love does not equal an unrealistic TV-show storyline for me anymore.

"I changed, I swear I did." She assures me hoarsely, "But I'm still getting there. I just needed to know that you were still here. That you were still here for me." She sighs heavily and I realize just how hard this must be for her. "Because I want to be here for you now. I'm tired of waiting. I want you to be a part of this, because I'm doing this for you. For us." Her voice gets steadier with every word she utters, with every promise she makes. But that does not mean that the tremble in her lips is disappearing or that her eyes are finally brave enough to face mine. For a moment I find myself losing all the resolve I've been putting up these last few months and I have a terribly hard time to keep myself from touching her again. From comforting her, because no matter what she has done in the past. No matter how much hurt she caused to me, I know she never did it intentionally and I know that I'd never let her feel the same way I did if I had the power to lessen it or end it completely.

"I miss you, Spencer." And she whispers that heartfelt confession with a wounded voice filled with regret, she breaks a third rule of ours by looking back at me. By letting her dark eyes meet mine in this familiar and safe place, in these hours of darkness where nothing seems to be calculated and everything seems to be spontaneous. Where the rules we've worked so hard on establishing are being broken so effortlessly and where we don't even mind it. Where I can finally prove Mr. Johnson that love was not fictional nor utopian. Where I can finally prove that love does exist. Because a fourteen year-old naïve girl, he can deny. But how can he deny this connection, this power that surges between us after everything we've been through. After all the hurt and pain and anguish that found their place in our lives.

"I miss you too."

Love is us.


	8. Chapter 7

_Brussels, June 20th_

_Dear Spencer,_

_It's been a couple of days since I've last written you and I hope that you're doing alright. I have to tell you that the reason I take the time between writing these letters is not because I don't think of you or that I am forgetting you. I take the time because the moment I stand still to write my incoherent thoughts, I'm reminded by everything again and there isn't a reason for me to grant myself the chance to leave my room and take in the city I'm finding myself in. That does not mean that I'm willingly trying to forget and neglect what I've done and the painful consequences of my actions. But I need to untangle myself from it long enough to continue living this new part of my life. I need to start and see life from a different angle, from a view I hadn't even considered. I want to see things differently, experience them in a way that is so foreign to me and finally start finding the beauty in the aspects that matter most._

_Like I've mentioned in my last letter, I'm planning to travel a bit through Europe and Brussels was my first stop. I have been here for a few days now and I've experienced here such diverse and overwhelming moments already. I have to say that when I first got here, I was pretty disappointed. The whole city just seemed to be so gritty around the edges. The first things that caught my eyes was how gray it looked and how the architecture was such an odd mixture of old and new. As if there never really was a full transition from one period to the other period, because they couldn't make up their mind. You hear about Brussels and you expect this large city –which it is- but it still felt somewhat quiet and completely undiscovered. Giving you the impression it was just waiting to be discovered and share its treasures with you, but nobody was willing to take that dive quite yet. It's like this one big whole of loads of small, discrete neighborhoods and endless little side-streets where you'll lose yourself effortlessly. It's as if you have to try just a little harder to find the pleasant and the existing. But I discovered that when you do find it, what you get is every bit as worthy. It just takes a little profound digging. Which, in its own way, makes it all the more charming._

_I met this girl. She was at the bar of my hotel._

I immediately drop the letter from my hands as if it was scorching my skin. The last words I read are making my heart constrict and I don't know if I have the guts to continue reading her truthful confessions. Because I don't think that my heart could take the heaviness of whatever words that may come. I feel as if I'm intruding such a private part of her life, a part of which I do not have the right to know about. Even if she was the one who wrote them for me and she was the one that delivered them to me in the hopes that I would take the time and read them. In the hopes that I would understand her choices and the actions she made. I continue looking at the letter in front of me, eyes too glassy to see more than an incoherent jumble of hundreds of words. Too lifeless to comprehend their meaning and their influence on me and consequently on us. The choice is made for me when I hear my mom yelling to me that I have to come down before I'm late to school. I quickly jump up from my bed and stuff the letter in one of my books, before speedily walking down the stairs. I make a beeline towards the door the moment my foot lands on the floor, in attempt to avoid anyone I did not want to see or confront. The awkwardness was still very much in place between us. Sometimes I felt like a foster-kid who was suddenly ripped away from their familiar environment and thrown into a new family where you were supposed to immediately adjust as if nothing occurred in a past life. I felt like my own family was trying to suffocate me with attention and care in a desperate attempt to make me feel home. To make me feel a part of that family and to make me the happy and joyous person I once was. They didn't realize that that step could only be made if I chose to take it myself.

"Spencer, honey is that you?"

My hand is already firmly grasping the doorknob and I'm contemplating of just quietly leaving through the door.

"Sweetie, could you come inside the kitchen for a sec?"

For the second time today, I have no say in what to do and just follow the instructions of another person. And at this very point, I don't really mind it. Because I do not trust any of my hazy judgment or automated actions. I trudge my way towards the kitchen and solemnly head inside. The first thing I'm met with is the hesitant smile on my mothers face and it pains me to see that my inability to function naturally amongst others has been reflected in their movements and way of interacting. I see her chance a sly glance towards the left and I follow her gaze without a second of hesitance. The tentative smile and nervous behavior of my mother suddenly takes a completely different turn in my head and I'm not to sure how I should perceive this image I'm met with myself. Because when was the last time I was met with the inhibited, anxious and even child-like version of the girl that had the cocky and egocentric persona perfected. How should I take in this girl whose hands are hiding deep inside the safety of her pockets and whose eyes can't linger on mine longer than a fraction of a second. How can I process this moment, when I haven't gotten the chance to be a part of it in over five months. The foreignness of this scene is overwhelmed by anxiety of the other persons in this kitchen and the surprise and confusion of mine. The silence that envelops us is louder than any sound I've ever heard and all three of us painfully await the end of it.

"Ashley thought you might need a ride to school." My mother says, saving us both from actually having to use our undoubtedly weak voices. "I think it might be a good idea."

It's ironic that my mother of all people is the one who's trying to knot us together, when all she's been trying to do in the past was untangle us in every way possible. It's funny that the acceptance of my sexuality seems so futile now and completely fades away when compared to the experienced events of the last few months. And it shows just how desperate my mother is to have her daughter back, going as far as pushing the one person she feared most into my arms in hopes that I'll once become the sweet girl with the never fading smile again. Or maybe she isn't desperate maybe she's just finally understanding it. Maybe she's finally coming to terms with not my sexuality but with the fact that I really did love Ashley and that she was the main reason why there always was a secretive smile plastered on my face throughout the day. Maybe she's just as tired as I am and just wants to go back in time and live so carelessly like we once did and simply accept things in the form they came.

My eyes have yet to leave Ashley's form and hers are still focusing on everything but mine. She made the first move and she's in a place where all she can do is anxiously wait for mine. She's putting herself on the line, like the many times I did for her and it's evident that she's not used to it. It's clear because I don't think I've ever seen her this scared. Ashley Davies does not like to be in a submissive position in which she cannot call the shots. In which she is dependant of another person's actions. She likes to be the one in charge. She's used to be the person who decides what happens and how it happens, without you even perceiving it because she does it in such a natural manner that it doesn't register in your mind. Ashley is the one who mends your heart or breaks it. Or in this case, attempting to do both. She once told me, way before we were together than she'll break somebody's heart before they'll have a chance to break hers. At that time I didn't really give much thought to it, because I thought it was an attitude caused by previous bad experiences. Because she had been with people who did not see her for who she was but for what she was. Because she was with people who weren't me. I don't have to tell you anymore how wrong I really was.

Something in me tells me to leave her there without a word and make her feel what I felt countless times in the last moments of us being a couple. It urges me to make her feel like she was never good enough for the person she adored and that she'd always come in second place. But then she finally chances a look at me, wondering what I might be thinking. With that one genuine and shy glance she tarnishes every part of the so-called though exterior I was trying to build. With that one fleeting look she ruins every single one of my intentions to not make this easy. To show her that I did not forget about her absence in the most challenging part of my life. With that one glimpse, that looks so harmless to an outsider's eye, she exposed the main chink in my armor. The one flaw that I could never get myself to lose, because it's the only one that I secretly cannot live without. With one innocent glimpse, she's made me realize how I'll never be able to not love her. And with that same realization comes the fact that I'll never be able to hurt her in even the most harmless ways.

"Okay." I just manage to whisper in a voice I do not recognize. Two faces swiftly turn my way as soon as the word escapes my mouth, eyes are widened in disbelief and hopeful barely-there-smiles are formed. I gradually walk out of the kitchen without saying goodbye to my mom or giving Ashley any indication to follow me out. It takes her a few moments to finally follow me, her hesitance surely caused by the shock of my acceptance. I faintly hear mom telling me to have nice day, just when I'm about to exist the door I just opened. Her car is parked just across the street and as she bashfully starts walking next to me, the distance never seemed to be any larger than at this point. No words are uttered as we nervously make our towards the car and I take the needed amount of space between us to not accidentally bump our shoulders together but to still be able to smell her fruity scent that I have come to miss so much. As the car comes in closer and closer proximity of us, realization finally dawns on me in which situation I'm residing in and what the consequences might be. Endless thoughts float through my mind in contemplation as to what this might mean. Because her offer and my acceptance of it stretches far beyond than a simple ride to school. For a moment my mind takes over my body and before I know it I'm tripping over my own traitorous sandals and I just manage to not fall. My books and notebook do not experience the same luck as they're send sprawling on the ground. I immediately hunch over and embarrassedly start collecting my stuff.

"Here, lemme help." She says quietly while she bends forward to gather the fallen items. I picked up the majority of the things when I slowly hoist myself up. And it's only then that I see I missed the most important item –which I had completely forgotten about – peeking from underneath her car. She's still stooped by the ground, when she follows my gaze and reaches for the object of my attention. It doesn't seem that she recognizes it first until she innocently takes a closer look at it. She lifts herself up, never taking her eyes off the letter that she has written such a long time ago. I silently watch her fingering the corner of the sheet, looking like she's contemplating what to say. Seemingly thinking back about the times she's spent overseas and away from me. As if she's searching to vocalize the words she once wrote. She eventually hands me the letter, without taking her gaze off of it before hesitantly turning back around and heading for the drivers door. I follow her lead and quietly enter the car.

She makes absolutely no move to start her car or gives any indication to do so. Her hands are clasped in her lap and her eyes are fixated on the nothingness in front of her. We're already late to school but that's the least of our worries at this point and it's demonstrated by the motionlessness of our bodies during countless minutes. Seeing that letter made her realize just from where we are coming from and that her aspirations, _our_ aspirations are still so far off. The letter displayed the foolishness of the thought that this ride we are in is one that can be fulfilled with ease and that our destination will come sooner than later. It made us see that this step we just took, was only one of the many ones we still have to take.

"Those letters," she softly speaks, " they're everything." She croaks out while fidgeting with her hands. "They're my fears and my hopes. They're everything you need to know." I feel her eyes slowly but surely shifting to my form, but I continue looking trough the window. Not trusting my reaction to her truthful words. "I wrote everything down in them and I really, really hope you'll read them all. Because I can't do this without you doing so." She tells me sincerely. I still don't turn to look at her and I don't give her any form of an answer. My voice would only deceive me and I don't think I could handle that.

"Spencer, look at me." She instructs me in a soft voice. It takes me a few moments to compose myself and finally shift my body towards her.

"Will you?" She asks me bashfully as she searches my averting eyes. I feel the slightest touch of a finger underneath my chin and the same sorrowful eyes that made me give in to this ride are urging me to submit once again.

"I will."


	9. Chapter 8

She worked there actually

_I met this girl. She was at the bar of my hotel. __She worked there actually. She came to sit next to me after her shift. The first thing she said to me was that she thought I was the saddest girl ever to hold a martini. The first thing I said or snarled was that quoting a mediocre movie wasn't the best way to impress a girl. Yet somehow I ended up walking down those small streets with her towards small and discrete neighborhoods way past midnight. I don't know why I followed her, but something about her compelled me. Something about her tired traits and easy yet strained smile told me that there was so much more to her story. There was something about the way she strode down the ancient paved streets that made we want to tell her mine. So I did. In the obscurity of the night and in a city that I did not know, I told this nameless and unknown girl everything. From the start to the end. _

_I told her about how I had the best father in the world but that I barely got to share anything with him. I told her about the mo__ther who once loved me but stopped once she discovered who I really was and how much I reminded her of dad. I told her how the alikeness with my father was more a bad thing than a good thing. I told her about the sister that stepped sixteen years too late in my life. But above all I told her about you. Every single detail, every singly moment I had the luck to share with you I told her about. In the middle of the deserted Grande Place, I told her about the girl that made me feel again. About the girl that showed me what care truly was and taught me the beauty of the unconditional love she had for me. And I told her about how I fucked it all up. Not once did she interrupt me while my endless musings. She just sat there beside me on the paved and cold ground and listened carefully to the troubled girl she had just met. And she reminded me of you. Of all the times you just sat there and listened to me, not bothering to interrupt me. Even if it was you who needed to be listened at. Even if it was you that deserved the undivided attention. You were always so willingly there to listen to me without asking a single thing in return. Without once getting aggravated and demanding the attention you earned._

_She reminded me even more of you when she invited me into her place. Into that miniscule studio of hers that was situated above a sleazy nightclub. She remind__ed me of you when I saw her check on her sleeping three year old son, only to head to bed because she had to leave for class in less than two hours. She reminded me of you because the problems she had seemed so much bigger than mine. Because the situation she was in was worth complaining about so much more than mine. But she put it all behind her to listen to me. To be there for me even if she didn't know my name and I didn't know hers. I had to prod the problems out of her the next day, because it did not seem fair that I was always the one who was unrightfully complaining to those who had every right to actually do so but didn't. _

_She __talked about her problems eventually. Although for her they weren't problems. She called it life with its many unexpected turns. She called it the blessing that gave her the one person who would always love her for who she was. _

_Her whole story and the easy acceptance of it rendered me speechless. _

_Being pregnant at sixteen and shunned from the family, because their religion and culture condemned it. Because the face of their family was more important than their single pregnant teenage daughter. Moving from one friends' place to the other, living day by day wondering what the next may bring. Attending college by day, w__orking at the hotel by night, being a full-time mother and somehow still finding the time to listen to the spoiled brat with her self-inflicted pain. _

_She reminded me so much of you because that girl was you, Spencer. In another lifetime, in another city, in another world, that could've been you. Wherever you are in whatever form you may come in, you'll always somehow be there for me. We'll always meet because I'll be searching and you'll patiently wait there for me to find you. You'll always help me even if you don't register it, even if you think that you're just being your natural self. And you'll never ask for anything in return because that's just who you are. But it's time for me that I finally step up and undo this unjustified routine. It's time for me to listen to your own setbacks, to your version of your life. It's time for me to be there for you and take care of you. To let you know that it's okay to cry and complain and ask for help without feeling weak. Dunya (the girl) told me that if you don't know exactly where to go, you might not find a single thing. I want you to know where you're heading. I want you to be able to search for me and find me there waiting for you. I want you to be able to count on me and trust me again. Because I know where I'm going and I know what I'm going to find. Who I'm going to find. I want the same for you._

_I want us to be okay again. Above all, I want you to be okay again Spence. Because I don't think I'll ever forgive myself if you don't. _

_When you're ready, search for me. _

_Don't hesitate._

_All my love,_

_Ashley._

I gently put the letter back down next to me and take a deep breath as I let my body sink into my soft mattress. I think back about the day's events and how it all started with those miscalculated words I read this morning. I think about the closeness I let Ashley get in after I was anticipating another low blow from her. I process the actions I took after I thought she might've betrayed me once more. After fearing that I had lost her to some girl in some bar in some city. But I chose to ignore that all and preferred to not hurt her and give her a chance to begin the long process of the healing of my heart. And then I think about what I would've done if I had read the whole letter at once. If I fell for her mournful eyes after thinking the worst, how would have I acted if I knew what she really meant? What she really promised. The effect she has on me seems to be even greater than before she left. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder and I think that I finally understand the meaning of it all. After five months without her presence and me being left in the coldest and scariest place I've ever been in, the name Ashley Davies and all of her surrounding memories were starting to take the shape of a myth. As if nothing ever happened. And all that took place between us was one big daydream while a scorchingly hot afternoon in Mr. Johnson's class.

Sometimes, I wake up and I wish that it truly wasn't real. Because even though Ashley made me feel more alive than I've ever felt, even though she unshackled the genuine me and even though she made me feel loved and cherished like no one ever could, she also made me feel a pain I've never suffered before. A pain that goes deeper than the one caused by the sudden loss of a sibling. A pain that makes you feel so ashamed and guilty. So guilty that you couldn't even bring yourself to attend their funeral and honor them one last time. To say your final goodbye to them and start cherishing the moments you shared. But life's defined by stages and by missing one of them, I missed my chance to end my grieving. I missed my chance to end this continues hurt and pain that does not want to leave my soul. I missed my chance to be Spencer Carlin, because the one person that needed to be by my side to drag me out of it bailed on me. The one person that could erase my pain with solely her presence, increased it by her absence. Silent tears cascade down my flushed cheeks for minutes before I even register it. The tears that refused to let themselves out during a time in which even the most detached person could not help but weep in their sleep. Tears that where inexistent when my dearest brother died, because I was too dead to be human. Tears that flowed so easily when I opened that little package she left me behind.

The gates are opened and the sobs only increase as the time goes by. I try my hardest to keep the sobbing to a minimum, not wanting anyone to hear my sorrow. Not wanting to make them relive the stage of grief that they somewhat successfully passed. I say somewhat because I know that the brave front they're putting up is largely only done for me. In attempt to help me go through with it all. They're trying to take in her place, her responsibility but the effect can never be the same. She's the only person who can make me go through with this is all and they know it. And so does she.

In between the sobbing and the painful reminiscing, my phone has found its way in my hand and my fingers have dialed a number that I haven't used in months but that I could never forget. In this haze of complete incoherence and irrationality I find my phone shakily pressed to my ear and my heart beat increasing which each dial tone.

"Hello?" A groggy voice answers and I wonder just how late it really is. I firmly close my eyes in a last attempt to end these tears but to no avail. "Hello? Is anyone there?" She sleepily asks again. Her voice only makes the lump in my throat grow in size and the quiet and muffled whimpering inevitably begins to increase in sound. "Spencer?" She suddenly asks me alarmed and every single trace of sleep leaves her voice. "Spencer what's wrong?" She asks me hurriedly after I fail to answer her. I can hear her getting out of her bed and I can already see the image of her standing up in her too small shorts and cut off tank top. I can picture her hastily putting her crumpled jeans on with her phone still pressed to her ear, only to frantically start searching for her car keys.

"Spencer, please talk to me." She silently supplicates, "Tell me what's wrong."

I internally (sadly) scoff at what she says because where do I start? How do I begin telling her about all that's been going wrong for these last few months. I don't have letters I can write everything in, I don't have a person I can freely confide in. Not anymore. All I have are inner struggles and silent battles that you can only take notice of through these stubborn tears.

"Where are you? I'll be there in a few minutes." She says urgently as I hear her shuffling her way through a door. "No." I silently whimper, finally overcoming my crying a bit. "I just – " I pause and inhale deeply in attempt to lessen the tremble of my voice. Trying to sound not so broken as I completely am. "You just what?" She asks me quietly. "I just want to sleep." I whisper through my phone, eyes still firmly shut and tears slowly dropping on the front of my shirt. I shift myself until I'm fully lying down again, cocooning myself in this cold bed of mine.

"I just need to hear you."

I need to search for you.

"I just … I just need you to be there."

I need to find you.

"I'm here Spence. I'm right there with you."

I need to find you waiting for me.

"I always will." She assures me quietly. No words are exchanged after that and the only sounds I hear are from a laid-on-mattress I've come to know so well and that I miss so greatly. A mattress that I envy because it is filled with her omnipresent scent and molded by her warm body. It doesn't take long before my closed eyelids have become a direct consequence of the soothing breathing on the other line instead of my insistent weeping. And it's that same breathing that cradles me away from the reality and into a world in which loved ones did not leave and in which we did not suffer. With the phone loosely in my hand and closely to my ear, I follow her into a place in which we can just be.


	10. Chapter 9

_Brussels, June 23rd_

Dear Spencer,

As I'm writing this, the train is barely departing from the station. Ready to leave behind Brussels and its learnful experiences. Ready to leave behind the first chapter of my alternation. This little trip just confirmed and reasserted any of my reasons and beliefs to do this. To take a way out for a while to find myself. It's what I need and I promise you that it's also what we need.

That doesn't make it any less harder. I miss you, Spencer. Every day that passes by feels wasted because I didn't get to share it with you. Every day I wake up feeling miserable knowing that you aren't there right with me. Especially after having you coat every moment of my dreams. There's nothing more painful than to wake up and realize that it was just that and nothing more. God, I miss you so much. And it only makes me that much more angrier with myself, because I know that I had it all and never appreciated it to way I should have. I know that I might've blown away any of my chances to attain you again. To have that intimacy we once shared.

It's a risk, this trip I'm making. A huge one and I realize that every single second that passes by. But it's one I'm willing take, because there's no other way. I don't want to hurt you any longer, Spencer. I don't want you to hurt at all. I already told you that. Countless times, even before we even we got together. But I didn't come trough with it. And that fact hurts even more than the distance that's parting us right now.

I can't imagine how you probably must feel these days and, frankly, I'm afraid to find out. I can understand that you feel betrayed, sad, angry or any other feeling that you shouldn't be feeling. Any emotion I had vowed not to evoke within you. But despite everything, I hope that you still feel loved. Because that is something that I could never stop doing. That is something that comes so naturally that it doesn't even need to be pondered about. I hope you realize that no matter what the situation is, my love and adoration for you will never decrease. On the contrary. I know that my actions and words might have told you otherwise, but they couldn't be more untruthful and unworthy. Because I haven't been able to get you out of my head since the moment I met you. And I haven't been able to stop falling for you since the moment you shared one of your most personal and meaningful parts of your life with me. That day at the beach, will forever be engraved in heart and mind as the day I started falling hopelessly for you. And I've tried to deny it. God knows I've tried to fight it. Because it just wasn't me and I couldn't work up the courage to let my heart break once again. But your secretive smile and hypnotizing eyes made me betray any of my beliefs and my, by then already, faltering heart.

Don't forget that even if it might not seem like it, I'm there for you. Just like you're here for me right now. Through these words I'm writing, I feel you. For a moment, an instant you're right here by my side. Making me stop my movement briefly, sense you and let a hint of a broken smile paint my features. I hope you can do that to. Know that I'm there for you Spencer. Believe it. Because it's only then that you can feel me. And I can assure you it's true, because what we share is nothing short of exceptional. Whether we're in a relationship or not, whether we're just friends or complete strangers on the other side of he world. Our bond exists and will never fade. Don't let my stupidity overshadow that.

"Care to share your reading material with the rest of us, Miss Carlin?" A stern voice interrupts me and I quickly close my book, conveniently hiding the letter. I look up and feel my cheeks flush as I meet Mr. James' stern gaze. No words come out of my faltering mouth, only producing a sound that's in between a strangled sigh and a desperate whimper.

"Well? Whatever it is, it must be quite captivating for it to completely filter out my brilliant speech." He says severely, laughing condescendingly along the way. My mouth opens and closes but still no word comes out as I feel everyone's stare on me. Rapidly increasing the beat of my heart and ensuing a nervous tremor through my body.

"Fuck!" A loud and familiar voice suddenly resounds through the classroom. Effectively stopping the teacher's movement towards me. Perturbing eyes shift with the unwanted attention by its side. I briefly take the time to inhale and exhale to a normal breathing pace and try to gain the collectiveness that had left my body. But my surroundings don't stand still.

"Excuse me, Miss Davies?" Mr. James says, clearly not amused by the interruption. From the corner of my eye, I watch him wander a few rows behind me. Sauntering towards her desk.

"Uhm … I just noticed that … uh …," She takes her time to come up with an explanation for her outburst. "I just noticed that my sister ate my homework again!" She rapidly rambles. Her explanation is soon followed by loud snickers and for a moment I contemplate how I should act. If I should smile or cry at her antics. Because this moment is too familiar for me not to dwell on. Inadvertently bringing me back to more happier and simpler times.

"As much as I appreciate your concern for the missing of your homework, may I remind you that you didn't have any today." He says strictly. Mr. James isn't a lighthearted teacher that can appreciate the occasional joke here and there He expects his students to act properly and maturely at all times. No need to say that Ashley wasn't exactly his favorite student.

"I guess it must be my French homework then." Ashley retorts in a phony serious tone, only to mess him up a little more. She didn't even take French. She claimed that the class lacked that little extra thing. She had made the statement only a few moments after I had mentioned I wouldn't be taking the class.

"As for your colorful use of the English language and the pointless interruption, you will spend your Saturday afternoon in my lovely company right here." He finishes smugly. His words ending right at the ring of the bell. Everyone quickly clears their desks in attempt to leave the classroom before any assignment can be mentioned and I follow suit. Not because I fear any tasks or confrontation with the fearful teacher, but because of a certain curly haired girl that took the limelight from me.

I'm not ignorant, I know exactly what that little scene was about. I know what her purposes were and I don't think I can face her with those on my mind. It's one thing to confess my need for her on the phone, when I know the distance between us. When I'm in the safety of my own room. It's another thing to face her and confess those hurtful words in person. With the letter still on my mind, I don't know what I should say or how I should act. How I should perceive her actions. I don't know if I should be grateful or hurt. Because what does this little action mean compared to these last few months? What right does she have to come and help me like that? To be there for me when I didn't ask her to.

She has to understand that my nightly admissions don't apply on bright days like these. She should know that what was said and done last night, doesn't suddenly change everything. And that her letters, no matter how heartfelt they are, form only the beginning of a journey of which I still have my doubts about. She has to realize, that the Spencer she left isn't the same as the Spencer she's confronted with right now.

I trudge my way through the masses of the hallway, tightly clutching my English book with the hidden letter in it, to my chest. Rapidly walking towards a destination that isn't known to me. Only hoping that it's far away enough of the increasing calls behind me. The ones that cry out my name and seem to be coming closer with the second. The ones I so desperately want to escape.

My footsteps increase in speed, but they don't manage to shake off the voice that's becoming more desperate with the second.

"Spencer, please." I hear her utter so pleadingly, so brokenly that I can't help but stop my movements completely. Halting in the middle of the passing masses, feeling inadvertent bumps from the left and right. Sensing her body taking the final steps towards me. Not daring to turn around because I'm still too afraid to face her. Because I still don't trust myself in her company.

"What do you want, Ashley?" I manage to sigh out when I feel her presence right behind me. I don't know if she understands the meaning behind those words, because frankly I'm not sure how to decipher them myself. Only knowing that a huge array of implications lie behind them. She doesn't answer immediately and I can hear my own words echoing over and over in my mind, wondering if the same thing applies for her.

She steps closer and I feel fragments of her breath hitting the back of my ear. Unintentionally, or very much intentionally, clouding my mind and fulfilling the fear I had of acting somewhat unprejudiced in her presence. My eyes close and suddenly I don't feel nor hear the throngs of people around us. Suddenly all I feel is her warm breath and all I hear is the pounding of my heart. Suddenly it's just us.

"I want to be there for you." She whispers genuinely. Truthfully. Snippets of her letters, of last night's happenings, of these last few months flash before my closed eyelids. Bringing me in a frenzy of contradicting emotions. Making me come to terms again with the messy situation I'm currently residing in. The situation that's been getting more chaotic with each day that has been passing by since Clay's departure. The situation of which I now know will only get messier with her presence back in my life. And I can't seem to decide whether that's a bad thing or not.

I deeply inhale, before fluttering my eyes back open. Slowly letting unfamiliar sounds filter in again. Feeling the urgency to make this moment a little less private, a little less personal. A little less damaging for the heart.

"I don't know if I still want you to be." I whisper out hoarsely. The words causing a pain I never had anticipated. Confirming the notion of truth being hurtful at all times. Because these word don't stand for any lie. Because they're exactly what courses my mind at right this moment. Even if I know that I'm contradicting my nighttime words. Even if I know that the chances I might call her up in the middle of the night again, is greater than me not doing so.

I leisurely start walking away from her and this moment. And I wonder if she understand it. If she understands it better than I do. If she knows me better then I seem to know myself lately. But mostly, I wonder if this hurts her just as much as it does me.

I continue walking until I'm faced with the first door on my route. Until I open it and leave the hallway and its occupants behind me. Until I leave behind the one person that can help me through all of this. And as I enter the stall and slowly slide to the floor, I feel a lone trickling down my cheek. Staining the inked letters that reappeared in front of me in blur of uncontrolled movements.

_Our bond exists and will never fade. Don't let my stupidity overshadow that. Don't let any fear, any doubt outshine that. Because it won't work. Because anything that might tell you otherwise, is merely temporarily and utterly deceiving. And if you don't already know that, if you don't already believe that, you will do so later one. You will discover it yourself. I will make you discover it. I will make you believe in it. I promise you that._

Cause I'm not letting you go, Spence. I'm really not.

All my love,

Ashley.


End file.
